There’s really nothing like it — that sublime scent of hand-rubbed leather, fresh from the department store. Within a few weeks, it will be compromised with the faint odors of breath mints and lipstick (and for some reason sea bass) , but right now, it’s time for a whiff…

When done well, boudoir photography creates a special souvenir for a lady to share with her loved one, and cherish herself as she slowly withers and ages. Let’s look at examples of correct and incorrect posing techniques:

Correct: This pose is refined, demure, capturing the subject in a tender moment of relaxation. The coquettish expression conveys a hint of sly mischief: How dare you linger in a lady’s private chambers? it seems to say.

Incorrect: Overly revealing poses are to be avoided, as they may result in later embarrassment to the subject, angry unannounced visits from husbands and boyfriends, and in some jurisdictions, legal action requiring a hasty relocation to Europe.

Sender-inner Laurie D. says “Godiva the greyhound was feeling the winter chill so she got a coat which she thought was very weird at first, and then she LOVED it! Snuggly coats for the win!”

Whatever it was, I didn’t do it. Or that other thing, either. Those bite marks on your sneakers? Those were, um, raccoons. The trash all over the lawn? Aliens. Big green ones. That mysterious activity in your charge account? I’m gonna go with North Korea. Or maybe Anonymous — man, those guys are good.

“How can this Tuxedo Pitbull Puppy not make you smile?” asks Adam Rifkin.

Firtht, we would thtand on a beacth, tho I could thake the thime to apprethiate your thylith extherior, thavoring the thight of your thlightly theer wrapper, thassily thinthed like a thort thkirt athop your thlender thtick.

Nexth, I would thlowly athisst you as you thed your thingth, thending them thailing across the thand, and you thtood thatuesthqe and thtill ath my eyeth thoaked in every inchth of your thiny, thleek, thenthuouthly thticky thkin.

I know it’s tempting. I get it, I really do. You see the hat, and if you’re of shall we say a certain age, a melody will pop up from some forgotten corner of your mind, and you may feel that it would brighten my day if you were to share it with me. A perfectly reasonable, seemingly innocent impulse.

All I’m saying is, the last person to serenade me with “The Mickey Mouse Club March” only got as far as “emm, eye, cee.” Word to the wise.

“My dog’s ears are prone to frostbite,” explains Redditor DetectionK9, “so he needs to wear a snood outside.” Meanwhile, we just like saying the word “snood.”

Dear Diary: The stranger came again. Night after night he challenges me in the hallway, cloaked in the shade of darkness, growing ever taller before my astonished eyes. I stand frozen in place, afraid to speak or move, yearning only for the calm of morning when I may again bask in the warm illusion that I alone am master of this domain. Yet every sundown he is there to mock and scorn, imitating my every move. “Begone, vile specter!” I cry in vain, but the silent brute lingers. I fear that madness soon may be upon me.